


Never See You Again

by sometimesimeow



Category: Men's Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alpha Jamie Carragher, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Bottom Roy Keane, Boypussy, Humor, Intersex, M/M, Omega Roy Keane, One Night Stands, Riding, Rimming, Top Jamie Carragher, Vaginal Sex, no betas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24420133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sometimesimeow/pseuds/sometimesimeow
Summary: Young Roy Keane is the newly appointed captain of Manchester United. The week before preseason, he has a one night stand with an alpha he will never see again.He is very, very wrong.
Relationships: Roy Keane/Jamie Carragher
Comments: 15
Kudos: 135





	Never See You Again

There were moments in Roy Keane's life where he wondered if he drank too much. Preseason was going to start in a week, and he ended his holidays early to return to England for a drink. The pub he was at was a mile and a half away from his house, and he wondered if he bought that house because it was within walking distance of whiskey. Then, whenever Roy thought about his drinking in a negative light, his mind followed up with the conclusion he'd been living in England for too long, and the people were getting to him. Namely, one person and that person was someone whose opinion was mattering less to him as of late. Sir Alex Ferguson had a face worthy of a punch. His smarmy expression usually preceded a lecture on Roy's tempestuous behavior, advising Roy to abide by Ferguson's rules or face the consequences.

Fuck the consequences, Roy thought.

Roy Keane was still young—at his peak as a footballer; he was single, and he lived alone. Boredom attributed to his number of dry whiskeys he drank a night, but he supposed he prided his liquor as a hobby. He didn't have many. So, Roy continued to drink and told Ferguson he'd stop when he got pregnant. The declaration always brought a sour expression to Ferguson's face. It made Keane laugh because everyone knew it wasn't going to happen. He was Roy Keane; an alpha needed to have balls of steel and eyes of glass even to touch him, but Ferguson still turned his nose at the suggestion. It was a conundrum that many old-timers in football faced. Ferguson's fair-weather progressiveness meant that he welcomed omegas on his team—but on his terms. "They work harder than any alpha because they want to be here more," Ferguson told the press as he explained about the pressures of omegas in football. All fine and dandy shit, until he added, "They have a pleasant attitude, and they follow instructions better than anyone. It's a pleasure to work with such grateful players."

And there it fucking was. Roy remembered snorting. He remembered mocking him in the locker room, much to the displeasure of some. Ferguson didn't want omegas to be omegas. Ferguson didn't like to hear things like heat talk or childbearing or any conversations that were too 'omega' for him. Ferguson threw a fit when Beckham wanted to get off suppressants because he and Gaz were considering a family, and God, was the expression of the glass shattering in Beckham's eyes satisfying. Yes, Keane had thought. See this twat for who he is. See that I wasn't fucking mad all these years. Ferguson wanted his players to obey him while posing no interest in fields outside of football and the team. The fucking joke of it all was that Keane had no problem following the latter, but he would die before he bent over for that wrinkly, knighted knothead. Fuck him, Roy thought. Roy wasn't Giggs. He didn't have his talent or attitude, and he sure as hell wasn't going to let Ferguson have his cake and eat it, too.

Before Roy could order his second drink, someone walked up to his side and told the barkeep he was spotting Roy's next order. Roy snorted at the gesture. "Piss off," he told the alpha. He didn't bother to look up. 

"What?" He heard the guy asked. His voice was distinctively Scouse, and it made Roy dislike him more. The Irish player looked up to repeat his sentiment, maybe get personal with a 'fuck off, scouser' for good measure. Roy had been down this route before. Many alphas saw Keane as an easy target—he was drinking alone, too masculine to be much of a looker, with black bags under his eyes from the midnight brawls and morning hangovers. They saw him and thought, "God, he must be gagging for a fuck. No one's making him any offers any time soon." Sometimes, things got physical when Roy turned them down. Roy liked those times. He loved a good bar brawl on a weekday night.

Instead, this alpha laughed. He dragged out the stool and sat next to Roy like the rejection was a joke. He raised two fingers, and the barkeep glanced over at Roy, waiting for his reaction. Roy turned to the alpha, "Are you deaf?" Roy asked before the stranger turned to him and smiled. It was a cocky smile, but it was a damn charming one.

Fuck, Roy thought. The boy couldn't have been older than eighteen, twenty at best. He had the typical look of a popular schoolboy, one who probably played football after class and was chased by all the omegas in his grade and under. His fitness meant Roy couldn't fathom receiving his interest, not when Roy was a struggling teenager, and less so now when Roy was an overworked, melancholic omega with a potential drinking problem.

"You're making a mistake, you know," the alpha said to Roy.

"What?" Roy's hackles rose; he prepared for the worst with this alpha. The standard argument about how Roy, an omega, was making a huge mistake turning him down. "I'm a nice alpha," they'd tell Roy, and that alone meant they deserved the consideration for even taking a chance on Roy. When he refused a second time, they got nasty. "No wonder you're alone," they'd added in spitefully. They didn't deserve this treatment because they were doing him a favor; they were better than anyone he could ever hope to pull with his appearance. Roy laughed at these alphas, and when they got upset, calling him a whore and bitch, he put them in their place. Roy admitted he looked forward to the aggression because it meant he could act out, and if he were lucky, it wouldn't get back to him later. If he was unlucky and landed in a tricky situation—a night in jail or a bloodied fist matching his broken nose—well, that was a consequence he could deal with.

"Two of whatever he's having," the boy ordered again. He got comfortable in his chair. His movements were the opposite of Roy's—whereas Roy's shoulder tensed, his were slouched and relaxed. Roy's brow furrowed while this boy's face was plump with youth.

"I told you to piss off—."

"Yeah, and I heard you. Hit me right through the gut. Didn't even give me the chance to say it was a bad move," the boy informed him. The barkeep set down two drinks. He was apprehensive; because while Roy Keane was a regular and mild-mannered on his own, there were many incidences Roy had turned down the wrong alpha in the worse way. It usually ended with an invoice for a broken chair and three shattered bottles of prized whiskey. Roy was about to respond, when the boy told him, "You shouldn't reject an alpha before you get your free drink."

Roy closed his mouth.

"When an alpha walks into a pub, he scans the room for potential mates. Doesn't matter who he is; whether he's in Cornwall or Yorkshire—he looks for that one person he's ready to give his left ball to bed. Now, that's his goal, his biggest challenge, his white whale! He sees him and says to himself. 'I'd do anything to get him in bed.' Because alphas, that's all we want. True story. We are terrible! One-track mind. We think with our knots, the whole lot of us, and the ones who don't, are lying," the boy told him, and Roy almost choked and laughed at the confession. He stifled it down with a cough, but he could see the boy smiling. Roy turned red. He told himself that his flush was not out of embarrassment, but because the boy was infuriating. The alcohol—from his one drink prior—was probably too strong. He was Irish; his people were naturally pink. The Scouse bastard then continued his story with open, accompanying gestures. Roy folded his arms in response. The boy was more expressive than anyone he'd ever met. "Anyway, back to the story. So, the alpha, thinks, 'do I go for it?'" The boy asked with his arms stretching out wider. Roy rolled his eyes. "Because he knows that if he goes for it, that's going to be 'no.' He knows he's getting humiliated, that he might spend his entire paycheck on that one omega, for that one night, and still having nothing to show for it. What a fucking twat." He pushed Roy's drink towards him, and just when Roy thought it was over, he smiled at Roy. "But at least he knows, he tried. Me buying you a drink is to make me feel comfortable enough to talk to you, not for you to be obliged to sleep with me." the boy said at last. "So how about it? On the house. For letting me make a fool out of myself in front of you."

Roy, to his credit, wanted to turn the drink down. He fucking wanted to knock it off the table and buy himself a bottle in front of the alpha to prove a point. Have him waste his money on another stupid omega who'd be happy to have a young, handsome, alpha give them their attention—but he never did. Instead, Roy took the glass and sipped. He tried his best not to smile. Roy _swore_ he didn't smile, but the boy's grin got wider, and if possible, he got more comfortable next to Roy.

"So, can I get a name?"

Roy raised an eyebrow. He was surprised the boy didn't know it. Not because he was one of those players who had their heads up their asses about being a Premier League footballer, but the boy seemed like the sort of kid the Manchester United player expected to see in the stands. Roy's suspicions were confirmed when he added, "I mean, I know it. But it's not a real introduction without you giving it to me, right?"

Roy sighed. "Roy."

The boy grinned. "Jamie."

Roy scoffed.

"What?" Jamie asked, confused.

"It suits you."

"What does that mean?" The boy asked, his voice a little high at the end. In fact, on the verge of cracking, which further emphasized he was too young to be doing this with Roy. "Go on. Tell me."

Roy licked his lips. He took a sip of his drink before saying, "Jamie’s a boy's name."

Recognition flickered in Jamie’s eyes. More importantly, how the implication of his youth compared to Roy's jadedness might have affected his chances of getting laid tonight. The boy leaned in closer to Roy's chagrin.

"It is not."

"It is," Roy teased, no, insisted. Because teasing implied a sort of flirtation, and he was not flirting with a child. "No man calls himself '’Jamie.' What were your parents doing when they named you?"

Jamie looked down, the smile never leaving his face. Then, he looked back up at Roy. "As a matter of fact, my mother named me James, but everyone calls me Jamie."

"Cause you're a boy."

"I'm not a boy," Jamie said, exasperated but still smiling.

"How old are you?"

"I'm…" There was a pause. Jamie rightfully looked embarrassed. Roy waited with a grin. "…eighteen," he muttered.

"Ha!" Roy snorted. "Just old enough to buy this drink. Do you even have your pubes down yet?"

"You want to check?" Jamie asked cockily, wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner expected of a boy his age.

"What? You're not old enough to tell?"

Jamie looked chastened, but he was stubborn. He wasn't ready to stop this weird, off-putting banter of theirs, so he powered on. "I think you're pretty harsh. Lots of men call themselves Jamie."

"Name one."

"Jamie Redknapp," he said immediately as if he was waiting for the opportunity to prove his point.

"A Spice boy?" Roy jeered. "You're trying to justify that ridiculous moniker with a Spice Boy?"

Jamie laughed so hard he almost knocked his drink off the table. "He's a good player!" he protested. "A Liverpool legend."

"That's not saying much," Roy muttered, remembering the cream monstrosity he pulled up to play in last year. "But you Scousers protect your own." He shook his head. "Utter nonsense." Roy was close to finishing up his second drink, and to Jamie surprised, he told him to leave. "Find some other omega to get your rocks off with. I don't fuck boys."

A strange, panicked look crossed Jamie's face. "Hold on a minute! You can't be that much older than me."

Roy shrugged. "I'm twenty-five."

"See?"

"You're still a boy," Roy stressed. "I bet just last week; you were wanking off in your parents' house, trying to recall a pop star in a video because you couldn't find the Selfridges catalogue to bust a nut."

Jamie turned red. He was speechless, trying to come up with a response. Roy half-expected an insult in retort, or maybe another stubborn refusal of his apparent youth. Roy doesn't remember being eighteen. His teammates say he'd been thirty for the last ten years.

Finally, Jamie spoke.

"God, I love the way you talk."

Roy stared at the pure reverence in Jamie’s voice. He didn't know whether to be taken back or suspicious of the tone. It was too odd, hearing such admiration from an alpha for something other than his playing or aggression, and it was even stranger recognizing it as an attraction. Alphas were scared of Roy. They didn't want him. And fuck, no wonder Becks was such a brat in front of the paparazzi because being wanted felt good. Roy was getting hot, and it wasn't because of the whiskey which he unfortunately finished.

Jamie saw his empty glass and immediately asked if he wanted another drink.

"Still no expectations?" Roy snorted.

"No, I want something. Got to have something at this point, More energy, and maybe, more effort on your part. You know what I mean?"

"What is it?" Roy asked before he could stop himself. Fucking hell, Keane, Roy told himself. Tell the Scouse scum to shove the bottle up his ass and leave him alone. Tell him that you've drunk at this bar every night—alone—and you'd like to continue it that way.

Jamie sucked in his breath like he was genuinely thinking about it. "You got to let me hit on you."

"What?"

"You got to let me hit on you. For real, this time. None of this back and forth, will they, won't they chatting sort of thing. Some good ol' fashion pick-up lines, you know what I mean?"

Roy had no clue, and he didn't care to., "Are you fucking daft?" Roy asked. "No!" He shook his head. "No. Absolutely not!"

Jamie shook his head. "Come on; it'll be good fun. You get a drink. Maybe a laugh. I get to make you laugh. We all win."

"No one wins if everyone is a winner. They're all losers."

Jamie mouthed out 'wow,' and then he vocalized it, and finally laughed. "I think you'd like it."

"I know I won't."

"I think you would. I think. I think it might be one of the best lines you've ever heard in your life, and you'll fall off the stool laughing."

Roy snorted. He licked his lips, trying to salvage the last of the whiskey because he wanted another shot, but if he ordered one and Jamie took the bill, he wouldn't live it down. "Go on then," Roy ordered. "Make me laugh."

Jamie grinned. "Okay, let's start with a classic." He looked Roy straight in his eyes. "You know what mate, you're looking pretty tired. I bet it's because you've been running through my mind all day."

Roy stared. Jamie stared back. Then, someone cracked. From behind, the barkeep who'd been keeping an eye on the pair busted out laughing. Jamie smiled at the man and turned back to Roy, who groaned. He laughed at Roy's expression. Not in a cruel, mocking way, but a giggly, schoolboy manner.

"That was shite," Roy swore, his face scrunching up in disgust. "Who'd be dumb enough to fall for that?"

Jamie laughed harder. "Hey, I have more!" He informed, doubling down on his stupidity. He winked at Roy. "Special ones for the Irish dames."

Roy couldn't wait for his ears to bleed. He folded his arms and waited.

"I could _shamrock_ your world."

"Jesus." Roy shook his head.

"I'm _Dublin_ my efforts to get you to like me."

They got worse each time. Jamie continued with a comment about Lucky Charms and just as he was about to finish the punchline for, "Are you St. Patrick? Because I've got a snake—" Roy called it quits.

"Stop," Roy interrupted. His arms left untangled from his chest to wave at Jamie to shut up. He leaned forward and grabbed his arms. "Stop, for the love of God—I've never been more embarrassed for anyone in my life." Roy usually enjoyed the misery of others, but with Jamie, it was just too much. He was just too much.

Jamie laughed the loudest Roy ever heard someone laugh while they were in his arms. Most alphas simply ended up pissing themselves. But Jamie was laughing; the two of them weren't on the field, and this boy was having the time of his life hitting on Roy because, for some, fucking, deranged reason, he wanted to buy Roy a drink—and more. It was enough to make Roy's lips twitch, and before he knew it, he was smiling. Just a little. Just enough for Jamie to notice.

And what sealed Roy's fate, was that while Jamie stopped laughing as hard, he did notice Roy's smile, and knew Roy was getting comfortable, Jamie didn't say anything. He continued to make jokes. He didn't call Roy out. He just kept pushing on, talking like he knew he was an annoyance and didn't care, making banter, and having a go at Roy's securities, his attitude, his aversion to touch, and leaving alone the parts Roy didn't want to acknowledge—his lackluster appearance, his solitude, how he was at a pub on a Saturday night because being alone in his empty house was enough to make him scream, and sitting in the pub was his only chance to be next to someone, even if the closest person was sitting seven stools away.

"Okay," Roy said, defeated, stifling down any excitement he carried in his voice. "You can buy me another drink—only because you made me listen to that shite."

Jamie grinned; he was happy as a clam as he bought himself a beer and got Roy his third glass.

The two talked for another hour, and it felt like no time had not passed. Roy hated how easy it was to get sucked into this boy's grasp. Roy didn't like talking about himself, but he did with Jamie because he knew all the right questions. He didn't ask about Roy's hobbies, but he did admire his arms, brushing against the curve of his biceps as casually as he suggested Roy could take him out if he tried anything. Roy said he could, and Jamie chuckled and offered a playful challenge to show him sometimes. It was then Roy stupidly revealed that he boxed and was close to becoming a professional boxer before deciding football was the more promising career.

Jamie found that extremely interesting. "I box, too. Not professionally, of course, not even close. But it's a great way to get me muscles big." It was a welcomed reaction compared to some of the alphas Roy met; most of whom shrunk away at the thought of the omega they were chatting up could fend for themselves, or worst yet, defend themselves against them.

"Can't complain about your choice when I see you on the field, you're a monster," Jamie said in wonder. "But man, would I have loved to see you in some boxer's wears. Those shorts on your body…" Then, Jamie froze.

Roy's turned shamefully pink, and when Jamie realized the inappropriateness of his comment, he got red, too. Jamie apologized, to his credit, for the foot in mouth, stuttering out he didn't mean it like that—.

Except, well, Jamie did mean it like that. He'd been buying drinks for Roy all night. Roy knew at this point that Jamie no longer saw him as an easy lay, because Roy was harder to get to than the promised land, and it wasn't for the honor of bagging the fearsome Roy Keane either, because, as Roy hated to admit it, Jamie didn't seem like that sort of guy.

Desperate to change the topic, Roy asked what he was doing in Manchester.

"Oh, I just got me dream job. The lads thought I should take a road trip up and down England for my last few weeks of freedom. We're only here for the night, and they wanted to go out to the clubs, but I thought I settle for a quiet night on my own." Jamie smiled nervously at Roy. "Can't say I made the wrong choice."

Roy ignored his last comment. He thought about Jamie's other words instead. Considering how young the boy was, Roy was impressed. A dream job at eighteen. Roy dropped out of school when he was fifteen to pursue his football career, only to be told he was "too small" to make it at the required level. An ex-teammate of his followed up his rejection by making a small, underhanded insinuation that he'd have better luck as a footballer's wife if he loved the sport so much. Roy punched his former teammate out cold. The Irishman remained undeterred. He took as many temporary jobs as he could—all in manual labor, all to prove a point, supporting himself until he signed onto a semi-professional club. He was eighteen when that happened. It was the recognition playing for that club that got Keane to where he was now—captain of the greatest team in the Premier League. He would always hold the Cobh Ramblers kindly in his heart, but it wasn't his dream yet.

"Good for you," Roy admitted. He fought the urge to ask about Jamie’s chosen career. They were getting too close already. Roy contemplated his next move. His glass was about to empty again, and he wondered if Jamie was going to shell out for a fourth glass or if Roy should end his misery and call it quits; leave Jamie with enough quid in his pocket to call a cab back to his hotel before he wasted it. He had enough bottles at home to continue his drinking there.

Then, Jamie changed the subject. To football of all things. Roy figured he was a fan. Scousers always are, whether they rooted for Everton or Liverpool, but he didn't expect the sheer magnitude of the boy's knowledge. Fan was an understatement. He was fanatical. Born and raised an Everton boy, Jamie could recite scores and strategies from any game in the Premier League, including games Roy couldn't remember—and he played in them. His memory was second only to his insight. Roy thought he could remain silent until Jamie started discussing the significant ways that Roy's teammates could have done better. Now, Roy hadn't always been on the best terms with everyone on his team, but they were family to him, and the only people could disrespect family was family. The two's heated discussion in the pub, accompanied by passionate yelling and hand motions, caused onlookers to watch with raised eyebrows and amusement. Sometimes, Roy got so angry; he thought he was going to punch Jamie’s lights out. Other times, Jamie’s analysis was so fucking spot-on that Roy thought he was going to make love to him on the counter.

Somehow time flew by, and Roy didn't notice until he was told the pub was on their last call, and Roy was completely sober. Jamie smiled at him when the barkeep gave the message. It was a sheepish, almost resigned smile as he took out his wallet. He paid for both their orders—including the first one Roy made before he even met Jamie. Then, he turned to Roy and asked if he had any plans tonight. It was past midnight. They'd been talking all night. He knew Roy didn't.

For the first time, Roy was in a dilemma. There was no pressure on Roy's part to say yes; Jamie made that clear. But there was no reason to say no. Jamie was only here for the night. He was attractive; far more appealing than anyone Roy had taken to bed, and it had been too long since Roy had a knot in him, wrecking him from the inside out.

"No," Roy answered as he got up from his stool. He grabbed the middle of Jamie’s shirt and dragged him out of the bar. "I don't."

***

"Wow," Jamie whispered the second Roy took off his shirt.

They were making out inside Roy's house; Jamie’s back was against the doorframe; Roy pushed up against him, keeping him trapped the way he liked. Their lips met in a half-sobered, half-drunken mess, but the contact only heated them up more. Jamie’s hands traveled Roy's ass and gave him a firm squeeze, and Roy groaned. Jamie heard it and kissed him harder. His mouth moved all over the place, bruising Roy's lips one moment and biting into his neck the next. He wasn't a gentle alpha; he didn't want to seduce Roy was softness. He was rough. He was touching Roy like he wanted to fuck him, and it got Roy burning like he was about to have a match. He was rubbing his body against Jamie’s now, his arms wrapped around his neck for a closer fit. Roy could feel Jamie’s full erection bursting out of his jeans, and it wanted in Roy, and Roy wanted it inside him.

Roy took a step back. Jamie’s lips followed before the man did, biting on Roy's lower lip and trying to drag him back to him. Roy almost bled in the process. Roy fucking loved it.

Roy shoved the man off him—hard. He took off his shirt before there were any complaints. Judging by Jamie’s 'wow,' there weren't many. Roy's lips slipped into a vicious grin. He could feel his adrenaline pumping. He could smell Jamie’s lust. The strong scent of an alpha who wanted to breed and fuck an omega until they went fuck-stupid on hormones. Within three seconds, Jamie was on him. He knew the man could talk, but fuck, his mouth was ravaging his pecs. Roy's chest would be covered in hickies and teeth marks the next morning, and the mocking was almost enough for Roy to think twice about continuing.

Then, Jamie went mental. He started worshipping Roy's entire body like a fucking temple. "So fucking hot," Jamie whispered. "Fuck, I love this body. Fuck, fucking hell." Jamie kept on swearing about being lucky for all this sex and muscle for himself. Like he was gorging on a feast of all his favorite delights. "Hard as a fucking rock," Jamie muttered. Whether he was talking about Roy's body or his cock, made no difference.

Roy smirked at the admiration. "Not like the twinks you're usually fucking around with, right, Scouser?" Roy moaned when Jamie‘s teeth bit his nipples. "Little, breakable fellas."

Jamie tongued Roy's abs; he reached down for Roy's cock and felt its length. "You have no idea," he said with a grin. Something tugged inside Roy's head to pay attention to that comment, but it went away when Jamie undid Roy's zipper; instead of pulling his pants down and asking Roy to show him his ass like some randy schoolboy, Jamie got on his knees and licked up his shaft.

"What are you doing !" Roy shouted red-faced. "Pervert!"

"Got to taste your cock," Jamie said, without an ounce of shame. He sounded desperate, too. "Used to see it on the telly, bouncing about in your shorts. Wanked off every time I saw a bulge." He continued to lick at it between words. Slurping it up like a popsicle. "Love a big, fat cock on an omega. I bet your clit is huge, too."

Embarrassment coursed through Roy's veins. He should have known Jamie was a pervert. Roy's cock was bigger than most omegas, and it only helped fuel the press in their crusade against him, saying he was not a "real omega," "lesser one," that he was "faking it"—which was bullshit. What player in football would willingly choose to be an omega?

But Jamie seemed to love it, and he didn't take Roy's protests to heart as he continued to suck on it. Roy closed his eyes. He took the liberty of shoving his dick into Jamie's mouth since he was willing. Jamie moaned in agreement and swallowed as much as he could—which Roy found out was a pretty fucking lot. Jamie’s hand gripped his hips for balance and moved his lips up and down his shaft. The sight of it was intoxicating. An alpha with a dick in his mouth. But Jamie didn't look weak or submissive. If anything, he radiated with dominance. Jamie wanted to take Roy apart with his mouth. His tongue was eager, licking him up until he was raw. He sucked the cock inside his warm wetness and had Roy shivering for he flicked his tip over and over again, making him feel like he was going to burst. Roy found his hips were getting sloppy, and he tried to thrust in further for more, but he couldn't. Jamie’s grip was too strong. He was forced to hold still as Jamie went down on him, pausing when Roy came close to the edge and starting again when Roy was settling down. He wasn't getting a reprieve. Jamie was ruthless as he went for the finishing blow—literally— Jamie shoved his throat onto the cock. Roy's tip hit the back of his neck, and the tightness alone made Roy come down his throat. His pussy trembled and squirted down his thighs. His ass was leaking. Roy felt boneless and impossibly good.

When Jamie got to his feet, Roy's cum was smeared all over his lips like white lipstick. Roy thought it was disgusting until Jamie shoved their mouths together. He could taste himself on the younger man's lips. It was revolting. Jamie kept kissing him, shoving his tongue down Roy's unused throat. Roy returned the favor, which only had Jamie laughing. Roy found himself getting hard again before Jamie’s fingers slid down his ass crack and up to his pussy lips.

"Where's your bedroom?" Jamie breathed out. He was still hard.

Roy thought about his raw, aching body, and how Jamie’s mouth completely wrecked him without his approval. It would have been satisfying to throw the Scouser out of the house with an erection as big as Roy's arm, having his pleasure already granted. Instead, Roy dragged the young man into the master bedroom for Round Two. The Irishman discarded his bottoms completely. His skin was on fire. It was too warm for wears.

"Fucking hells," Jamie swore. He was breathless. "I don't know which hole I want more. Both look so hot." He looked like he wanted to kiss them. "Like choosing between me mum and dad."

Roy rolled his eyes. "Just stick it in me," Roy commanded as he laid on top of his sheets. The blowjob was phenomenal. He knew the real stuff would be better.

Jamie laughed, light and giddy. "Sex isn't a race, love."

Love, Roy thought, aghast. He wasn't anybody's fucking love. "I'm not your love, you fucking cunt. Now, fuck me."

Jamie nodded, but he was still smiling. He took off his trousers and crawled onto his bed with his shirt was still on. Roy raised an eyebrow.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Jamie chuckled, though there was a tinge of confusion. "Hopefully you?"

"This isn't a teen movie. Take off your bloody shirt." He wasn't going to be only one naked in this situation. He fucking hated it when alphas got off on the power trip of taking their partner fully clothed while their omegas were bare as sex slaves. If Jamie was that sort, Roy was going to shut that shit down now.

Suddenly, Jamie got nervous. "I'm nothing special," Jamie joked. "Nothing like yours." The compliment was both flattering and irritating. Roy realized he was more receptive to praise when it came from Jamie’s infuriating mouth, and he hated how it made him happy. Roy didn't like flattery. It was the art of brownnosers and kiss-asses. But he liked it from Jamie. At the same time, there was insecurity in Jamie’s statement. Roy could hear it. He had an ear for weakness. He had an eye for it, too. His intuitive ability to seek people's low points made it easy to take apart his opponents on the field. So, when he heard such softness from Jamie, it upset him, because instead of the confident young man he allowed into his bed, it felt like Roy was dealing with an insecure teenager again. And Roy didn't need a reminder of how young Jamie was, or how old he is.

"Lose the shirt, or get lost," Roy snapped.

Jamie was hesitant. Then, the ultimatum finally hit him, and Jamie reluctantly took off his shirt. Roy watched until he was finished. Jamie was handsome; his face was the first thing Roy noticed about him, but his body would have more than a few heads turning on the beach. He was a fit lad. Definitely an athlete like Roy suspected, probably played in school seriously, because Roy had seen similar bodies on the field. His muscles were well-used and hard; he had a nice batch of chest hair, which somehow made Roy wetter than before. This was a man, Roy thought, not a boy. Roy bit his lips as he admired it, and it was only until his eyes trailed down to his abs that he noticed something irregular.

"What the hell is that?"

Jamie got tongue-tied for the first time of the night. He tried to stutter out a response. But Roy's hands were already on his stomach. His hard, toned stomach with scars where his bellybutton was supposed to be.

"Ran into some problems when I was born," Jamie muttered. "Had to get stitched up. I'm fine, now," Jamie said hastily. "Healthy as an ox. More than able to go for a few rounds," he promised. He tried to sound confident, but there it was overshadowed by his plea.

It was fucking endearing, Roy thought. Then, after the disgust for his sympathies wore off, Roy got up on the bed. Jamie’s face dropped.

"Hey, wait, I—"

"Get on the bed."

Jamie was taken back. "What?"

"Get on the fucking bed. Don't make me repeat myself," Roy warned. Jamie didn't need a third warning. He got on the bed and watched in amazement as Roy climbed onto his lap. The whole shirt debacle distracted him from the prize Roy had in front of him. Roy could feel it now, rubbing against his holes. Jamie had a good, sizeable cock with a curve like the fucking moon. It would hit all the parts Roy needed to get hit. The cock started to leak, dripping down its shaft and wafting the room with alpha arousal. Roy went out of his mind, smelling it. God, there was nothing better than the scent of an alpha ready to rut. It was twitching against him, too, getting Roy wet for its entrance.

Roy slipped two fingers inside his cunt. Jamie watched him scissor himself open so the slick could drip down on his cock. The thick, stickiness soaked his head without even touching his pussy lips. Jamie swore, loudly, begging for him for more.

"Fuck, I got to fuck you, I have to…please," Jamie groaned.

Roy smirked. God, this sounded good, but as much as Roy loved baiting his opponents, the tension was getting to him, too. He wanted that cock inside him just as bad. Roy took out his fingers and used that hand to brace the younger man's shoulder. Jamie almost whimpered. The smell of Roy's cunt was now next to his face. Then, Roy used his other hand to reach back and wrap it around Jamie’s length. He guided it to the entrance of his empty cunt.

Roy didn't ask if Jamie was ready. He pushed down onto the wet, leaking cockhead, and let spread him wide as he slid down the thick length. Roy's mouth dropped open. His cheeks flushed, and his head fell back as the pleasure lit up inside. The moan he made was whorish. God, he fucking missed this feeling. The feeling of a cock. The feeling of being stuffed raw by a real, virile alpha. There were many times he hated his sex, but tonight, Roy felt sorry for every poor bastard who didn't know the pleasure of being pried open by a cock as good as Jamie’s. Roy's body surged with heat. He knew it wouldn't be long into his brain blissed-out.

Firm hands gripped Roy's hips, trying their best to hold Roy in place while he fucked into him. Roy wouldn't have it. He gripped Jamie’s shirt, and then pushed him down so he could fuck himself back onto the cock that burned where it pushed in too hard and deep. God, he loved that it was curved. Roy hadn't been fucked in ages, but when he was, he didn't have a cock like Jamie’s fucking into him, hitting all the right spots Roy needed to hit.

Jamie could feel his enthusiasm. He was lying back, moaning loud enough to shake the house as Roy vigorously rode him raw. "This cock is…fuck," Roy moaned. "God, it's so...ah!" Roy clenched onto it. He moved his hips faster, and ground onto the cock so that his pussy lips were slapping onto the dick. It might have hurt them both; Roy was tight as a noose, and Jamie knew it, but neither of them cared how much it hurt.

It was just too fucking good.

Jamie didn't think when he raised his hands to smack Roy's ass as he rode. Roy's body tensed, his hips jolted, and Jamie, for a split second of sanity, knew he fucked up. It wasn't his fault. All Jamie could think about Roy's perfect body, and he needed to touch Jamie. He went too rough. He made a mistake. But before his mind could leave the haze of pleasure it was in, Roy groaned, loudly, and moved even faster.

Jamie moaned, almost in pain, as he fucked into that tight ass. His hands moved on their own again and smacked Roy a second time. Harder than the last. Roy was riding the hell out of him, and his cock was responding, working closer and closer to the fat knot Roy was salivating for. When the round head began to bulge, Roy went insane.

This, Roy, thought through his haze. This was what he fucking needed. To fucked full of an alpha's knot.

Jamie gained enough strength to fuck himself to the hilt of Roy's cunt. It was deepest anyone had ever gotten with Roy, and Jamie’s body knew it was the perfect time to lock inside him. Roy released an embarrassing, wanton whimper when the huge head of a knot punched inside him and tied them together. Roy's inner muscles gripped onto it immediately, his body greedily milking Jamie as soon as they were stuck together. His body couldn't handle much more. His second orgasm came in like a punch; his entire body tensed and shuddered as the pleasure took over his body and filled his vision with pure, blinding whiteness. He felt so fucking good. He couldn't keep track of anything as he sunk against Jamie’s chest. His head empty as his cunt was full. Jamie clung onto his form like a lifeline, and when the alpha ground against his cunt, whispering filthy, sweet nothings into Roy's ear, he was too overwhelmed to care.

Jamie didn't stop talking the entire time. He ran his mouth about how good Roy felt, how perfect his body was, how he didn't want to be anywhere else but inside him. It was utter nonsense. The man was a sap who thought he was Shakespeare. Despite his disgust, Roy had no choice but to listen to him. They were locked for an hour. Roy didn't know if that was long or not. It felt like it, but he'd never let an alpha knot him before. Finally, the swelling went down, and he slid off Jamie’s spent cock, groaning lowly when Jamie’s dick slipped free, leaking of cum and Roy's juices.

Before Roy could order him away, Jamie kissed him.

"Hmph!" Roy struggled to break free. He shoved Jamie away, only to hear him laughing.

"That was so hot," Jamie said. "God, I feel great! I feel like I can take on the world!" He leaned back and took a sigh. He was far too happy. "I can't wait. I can't wait to go again." He repeated, a little breathless and more than stupid.

Fuck, Roy thought. This moron was expecting far too much. Jamie was rubbing his cock like he was oiling up the gears for a second race. Keane thought it prudent to shut his expectations down, except, when he tried, he was surprised by the slight twitch of Jamie’s member.

Roy underestimated the refractory times of teenagers. It didn't help that Jamie had a great cock—and Roy couldn't stress enough how good it was, because the shape was spectacular, and it was the only reason to continue this affair past its expiration date. He should have kicked Jamie out of his bed by the now, but the sight of that cock and all its wet, half-hard glory was enough to have Roy's hole twitching. He considered his options. One, Jamie was only here for one night. Two, he lived in Liverpool. Even if he sold his story to the press, who would believe Roy would fuck a Scouser? Jamie turned to his side again, and he grinned when he saw Roy staring. He leaned over to kiss Roy again—like he hadn't done it like a hundred times already—but Roy turned his cheek.

"That's getting old," Roy muttered.

"Kissing?" Jamie asked in disbelief. He laughed despite his incredulity. "Kissing can get old for you?"

Roy was about to protest when Jamie tackled his lips. He was laughing as he did so.

Damn it, Roy thought as he kissed back. Jamie got up and began to cover Roy's body with his lips. He kissed down his chest to Roy's stomach. Spending almost a minute on some parts, and ran his hands over his sides, moaning when he felt a particularly firm muscle. "That feels so good…" Jamie mumbled against his skin. "Wish I could do this all the time…"

That's right, Roy thought. Jamie was leaving in the morning. Roy could fuck him all night, and he would never have to deal with the consequences. And the season was starting up again, which meant that Roy couldn't climb on dick anymore—not that he'd so before, but the option was essentially gone once training started up again. This was his last chance to get fucked.

Roy bit his lower to keep from groaning as Jamie sunk lower. The younger man nibbled near his crotch and said, "I want to eat you out so badly." The overeager bastard added, "Can I?" His eyes were hopeful as he mouthed at Roy's pussy.

Fucking hell, Roy thought. "You touch my pussy now, and I'll kill you." As good as it sounded to get a tongue shoved his cunt, it was too raw to do anything but hurt.

Jamie looked disappointed, but his face brightened up. "How about your ass?" He suggested optimistically.

"What?"

Jamie looked excited. "I could eat out your ass for a good minute or two. Probably longer. I've wanted in there for a while." He licked his lips. "Get it nice and wet before I go in."

Can you do that? Roy thought, but he didn't say it out loud and risked coming off inexperienced. His face scrunched up in disgust. He underestimated the perversions of a teenage boy, or maybe Jamie was a real pervert who sought out strange bedpartners. It would explain his interest in Roy.

Roy was about to refuse when Jamie ran the tip of his tongue down Roy's overstimulated clit and then slipped to his butt crack. Roy made a disgustingly humiliating sound. A cross between a whimper and yelp and a moan, and it was high pitched and animalistic, and Jamie just stared at him, pussy ignored, mouth gaping, eyes wide, and said, "That was the hottest thing I've ever heard."

Roy was so embarrassed that when Jamie lifted his hips with arguably impressive strength, his complaints died on his throat. Fine, Roy thought, let the pervert have his way. He ignored the heat in his chest that flared as he was manhandled in Jamie's preferred position—thighs on his shoulders, hips lifted, ass on top of his tongue. Jamie wasn't some nancy-boy who thought a knot was enough to get an omega to submit. He was strong and hard, and he liked an omega whose balls were bigger than his own. Roy's omega side, which he fought for so long, was preening for more.

Jamie's hot breath was the only warning Roy received before the tip flicked against his entrance. Roy yelped at the sensation. Jamie flicked his tongue again, and Roy released a low, almost pornographic moan as Jamie continued his assault. His legs trembled, but he could not himself from spreading them apart, giving Jamie better access to this hole.

"I knew you'd like it," Jamie breathed out. "God, this is a great hole. It's so tight. Bet no one's been alpha enough to give it the attention it deserves," Jamie surmised, before returning his attention to the hole.

Roy thought about finding a pillow to suffocate himself with. All his thoughts left his brain when Jamie penetrated him his tongue. The appendage didn't just go in and out like a cock. Jamie's tongue moved inside him, prying him open and slurping him up like pudding. Omegas didn't have as much natural lubricant in their assholes for obvious reasons, but it was still produced, and Roy knew he was leaking by now. All the honey was probably dripping down Jamie's face like cream. The older man couldn't help but shake and tremble as he clenched around the tongue inside him, trying to lick him raw.

Jamie took his reaction as an invitation to move onto the next step. He placed the tips of his two thumbs on the side of Roy's hole and worked them both inside. As Roy soaked his face, the teenager pulled open his entrance and pushed his tongue deeper inside.

Roy didn't know he could wail like that. He started bouncing his ass onto Jamie's face. Roy could feel Jamie smile against his ass. He slurped up the drenched hole and moaned when he felt Roy's toned ass jiggle on top of his face.

Jamie continued eating him out for ages as if he were a starving man in the desert. He just kept licking him and pushing his fingers inside. He was taking Roy apart, and he didn't care that Roy was trying to bruise his face with his cheeks, Jamie was acting like he was only alive to drive Roy to the edge. He got what he wanted after Roy's ass, unable to handle any more stimulation, trembled and came all over his face.

Finally, when Jamie parted from his abused hole, he let out a whistle from his swollen lips. "Wow," he said like the first time he saw Roy undress. "Look at how wide that is."

The teenager than looked at Roy's face and asked, "Wide enough for cock, don't you think?" Before revealing his curve, now ridiculously hard, cock in his hands.

Roy knew the right move. Instead of making it, he dropped on the bed and cursed the young man out as he got into position. Roy felt the head touch his backside and closed his eyes.

Just this once, Roy thought. He'd used the younger man for the night and never think of him again.

The two alternated between sucking and fucking all night, and Roy would die before he admitted that he allowed Jamie's used up dick to make a dent in his throat. Every minute was filled with wild, primal sex. It was always raw. It was always rough. And Jamie was always creative. He loved all of Roy's holes, and he knew where Roy's clit was, which Roy learned was a fucking mystery to him up until tonight. At the end of the night, when the two became lumps of dough on the bed, Roy tried to tell Jamie to leave. He expected the boy had several excuses on hand to get to stay, but he didn't use any of them. Instead, he was snoring, curled up on the sheets like he'd run a marathon.

Roy cussed out his bad luck for a minute, before staring the young man in front of him. He could wake him. But then Roy would have to listen to those excuses, and that was a waste of what could be a decent night.

Fuck it, Roy thought, before going to sleep.

***

The next morning, Roy woke up sticky. His bones were sore, and his head felt clear. There was no morning hangover or a post-brawl bruise. He could feel an ache all over his body, but it wasn't unwelcomed or painful. Just aching. His lower region had the most abuse, but before he could check for details, he felt a weight next to him. Roy groaned. The visions of last night returned to him, and shoved his head into his hands, unable to look towards his side. He knew what he'd find there.

True enough, as soon as he looked to his right, there was Jamie, snoring like an idiot. Roy didn't waste time waking him out. He shook him until he woke, throwing him back on the bed like a ragdoll until his eyes opened. When Jamie finally came to consciousness, he had the most irritating, jaw-dropping smile on his face.

"Morning," Jamie said as he got up to kiss Roy with his disgusting, morning breath.

Roy shoved him off. "What are you still here? Get out."

Jamie smiled like this was banter and not an actual command. Roy would have broken his players' backs if they ever smiled like that after getting an order. "Shocking how bad you are at this," Jamie teased. "You should at least let me shower before making me do the walk of shame."

Roy rolled his eyes.

"Please," Jamie added, and he leaned in to give Roy kisses all over his neck.

He was like a dog, Roy thought angrily. Against his better judgment, Roy relented and told him where to go for the guest bathroom. He didn't want the man near his personal belongings.

As Jamie gathered his clothes, he threw Roy a raucous grin. "You know, if you want, we could always wash up together. Get a repeat of you screaming on my—"

Jamie didn't finish his sentence. Roy threw the clock next to the nightstand of his more convenient (and less painful) pillow and shouted bloody murder as Jamie walked away laughing.

Jamie's madness continued to breakfast, mainly because Jamie insisted on making it, and Roy was hungry. He found that food tasted better without the hungover to distract him or his stomach. The dish was simple. Eggs and toast and bacon. After he laid Roy's plate in front of him, he asked if he could call his friends on Roy's phone. Roy granted his request, hoping it would get Jamie out of his house faster. The call was made, and instead of telling Roy when he was leaving, he sat down beside him with his plate and tried to initiative Roy's least favorite activity—small talk.

"Stop it."

"What?" Jamie asked. He took a sip of Roy's orange juice.

"You don't have to do this. You got what you wanted."

Jamie raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Did he hit the bedpost too hard last night? Roy thought. "We fucked," Roy clarified, in a tone used when speaking to an idiot. "You got your rocks off, and so did I. You don't have to keep doing this."

"Well, in that case, you're wrong," Jamie told him. "I didn't get what I wanted." Roy froze. "I got half. I wanted your number, too."

This fucking tosser was batshit—"No," Roy told him. "I rather swallow shit than sleep with Scouse scum again."

"Okay, that's harsh." Jamie didn't sound offended.

"We're never going to see each other again."

"You don't know that." Jamie sounded confidant, too. "I think we got a connection. And I'm not perfect, but I'm a decent lad. Got a good job. Nice cock, judging by the way you were coming on it, egging me to go harder—"

"Shut up," Roy got up from his seat. "Get out. Now."

Jamie opened his mouth to persuade Roy otherwise, but Roy wasn't having it any longer. Jamie had already pushed all his boundaries, and he wasn't getting passed Roy again. To prove it, Roy took Jamie's plate and threw it against the wall. "Get out."

Jamie stood his ground. "Give me one good reason, just one, why this wouldn't work out."

Roy could think of a hundred, but he wouldn't justify Jamie's stupidity with a response. He was buying time and using his good looks and great cock and devasting charm to persuade Roy to fuck up his life. Roy refused to be sucked into this alpha bullshit that would only leave Roy used and alone, or worst, pregnant, like all the other omegas in his life who decided that dick was more important than their careers.

Roy grabbed Jamie by his bicep and started dragging him to his door. Jamie, despite their equal strength, didn't fight back. Maybe he was in shock, but before he could protest, Jamie was getting thrown out of Roy's home. He finally sprung into action when Roy was about to slam the door in his face. His hand-launched through the door. It was a miracle Roy didn't crush it.

"I'm not giving up," Jamie promised. "Next time you're in Liverpool, keep an eye out for me."

Roy wouldn't give him hope. "You'd be forgotten by then."

"Would it help if I told you I'm Catholic? And I'm probably part Irish?"

It did, which increased Roy's frustrations. "Get. Out."

Jamie didn't respond like Roy thought he would. "I love a challenge," Jamie breathed out. "Do it again."

Roy thought he was rather generous with that request, because he was calling Jamie every name in the book, and some books he was surprised he read. Jamie was staring at him with this odd look of adoration and contemplation, and when Roy was finally stupid enough to finish, he asked Jamie, "What the fuck are you looking at?"

"I think I love you."

Roy just froze. He'd never frozen in his life. He goes to work comparing the field to a warzone, and people who freeze in a warzone get shot.

"Yeah, I think that's it," Jamie was grinning now. "This is it. I'm in love."

Roy did the only thing he could think of doing. He punched Jamie in the face. The younger man took at least three steps backward, clutching his nose, which allowed Roy to slam the door shut and lock it. Roy heard Jamie cry out, "I'll win you over! You'll see!" with his laughter ringing in his ear. Eventually, Jamie left. Roy sighed as he walked back to his dining room table, finished his now cold eggs and toast. He drank the lukewarm coffee Jamie made, and thought, 'this is what I get.' Roy took a chance, and then fucked a madman.

***

It was harder than Roy's thought to keep his word, but he managed to stop thinking about Jamie. Finally, the first match of the season happened, and then the next, and Roy was back in his element—war. Months passed without much excitement. He continued to drink too much, and sometimes came to training hungover, but he was capable, and that was all that mattered.

On the first battle between Liverpool and Manchester United, Roy walked down the tunnels with his nose in the air. He hated looking at the other players; he didn't want them to think they've earned his attention in any way. He refused to admit he was apprehensive about any potential onlookers, and he would never say that Jamie's final words were still ringing in his ear.

Instead, Roy focused on the game and only the game. He was captain, so that meant he stood at the front of the lines and only had to make eye contact once—with his fellow captain. Roy didn't have to interact with any of the opposing players until they were forced to shake hands. It was his least favorite part of any match, but he would endure it. The ceremonies started, and they slapped their hands with their rivals like a schoolyard game. Roy did his part, barely looking at any of the players until his hand brushed against one that was far, far too familiar.

The sight of Jamie in a no. 23 shirt made Roy's blood run cold. Jamie's eyes lit up, but they were a far cry from the admiration Roy experienced the other night. They were as fierce as a wolf. The edge in his expression had Roy soaking in his shorts.

Jamie came to play, and he came to win. He didn't smile, but his eyes never left Roy's once until the match started, and they were finally at each other on the field. Roy thought he was going to be sick. He didn't just fuck some random Scouse; he slept with the goddamn enemy.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote Roy Keane as an omega. And a bottom. :)  
> I'm quite proud of this. This might become a series. I don't know yet, but I just love seeing them together on Sky Sports. Their dynamic to me is more fun than the more common Gary/Jamie pairing.  
> So yeah. Please give your thoughts. 
> 
> Anyway, I’m on twitter, and it’s a good place to reach me if you want to know what I’m working on at the moment. I have a lot of football stories planned. I also have a separate site for original works, and it's all smut. I have zero class. 
> 
> Twitter: [@sometimesimeow](https://twitter.com/sometimesimeow)  
> Literary Website: [Murder at the Cathouse](http://www.murderatthecathouse.com)  
> 


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